We Were Not Meek
by simply.kaleidoscope
Summary: Somewhere, there is a timeline where Zachariah never showed Dean the future, Sam said yes, and Dean and Cas dealt with the consequences.


2014

The last thing Dean sees is himself.

He's too worn from the fight _(from life, Dean, you're too worn from life)_ to appreciate the narcissism in this final sight. He closes his eyes.

There's a crack and everything is finished.

2009

The last thing Dean hears Sam say is, "Dean, don't do this."

All he says in return is: "Bye, Sam."

He snaps his phone shut and presses his hand to his mouth. He wants to call Sam back and tell him "yes" and welcome his brother back with open arms. He wants to pull him close and protect him from Lucifer—because with luck like theirs, of _course_ he's Lucifer's vessel.

But he can't, because Dean Winchester knows that he's doing the right thing. This is the best decision for not only him and his brother, but also for the entire freaking world. Sure it hurts a bit, but he can handle the sting. He drops his phone on the end table and stands up.

After all, he's going to save this goddamned planet.

Dean settles on his bed and closes his eyes. He falls asleep almost the instant his head hits the pillow, and in four hours to the second, he's awoken by a set of blue eyes staring solemnly at him from across the room.

"Jesus Christ, Cas!" Dean yelps and jolts out of bed. Cas is unfazed by Dean's reaction and simply gets out of the chair and crosses to the bed

"I have reason to believe that Zachariah is drawing near," Cas says, "We should leave." Suddenly, Dean is wide awake. He kicks the covers off and jumps out of the bed.

"Yeah," Dean says. "Let's go."

They leave within the hour without ever sighting the angel.

It hasn't been outright stated that Sam isn't welcome back, but Dean's pretty sure that there's nothing that really needs to be said. After all, Cas picks up cues from Dean relatively quickly. Dean doesn't mention Sam, so Cas doesn't either.

They settle into a comfortable pattern where they don't talk about anything that could cut deep. The apocalypse? That's an easy conversation. Now, the fact that Cas has turned his back on everything that has ever mattered to him or that Dean was pointedly ignoring almost all of the calls coming into his phone and deleting the voicemails before he even hears them? They don't talk about that.

Until Cas does, of course.

They're in the process on traveling cross-country in search of another relic that apparently will help them find God—as if Dean's pendent isn't enough. Dean is fuming about how they have no leads on where it could possibly be when Cas carelessly says from the passenger's seat, "Maybe Sam would be able to help us find it. His strength's always lay in research—"

Cas cuts himself off when Dean's hands clench so tightly around the wheel that the Impala swerves sharply to the right before he gets it under control.

"Don't," Dean growls. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Cas pale considerably and flounder to remedy the situation.

"I only meant that—"

"I know," Dean interrupts, "But Sam isn't hunting with us anymore. That's it. Case closed." Cas says nothing and they drive on.

They do not mention Sam again.

Except for the Stanford years, Dean has always spent New Year's drinking and being boisterous with Sam, so this year feels a little bit too close to déjà vu of that era. The only clear difference is the angel staring dubiously at the drink that Dean forced into his hand.

"I don't like the aftertaste," Cas comments. Dean tries to cover his laugh with a cough, but if the dirty look the angel shoots him is any indication, he isn't fooling anyone.

"You get used to it," he says and takes a swig of his own drink.

Dean isn't really sure if Cas really understands the point of the holiday, but he had accepted Dean's explanation of it with minimal questions. He's pretty sure that the whole "staying up to midnight" effect is lost on Cas because, for starters, he doesn't sleep and Dean is up well past midnight most nights anyways. Dean supposes if you didn't grow up with the tradition—sitting on the couch of some gross motel, watching the Twilight Zone marathon with your little brother and laughing at the shitty effects, waiting for said brother to inevitably fall asleep well before midnight just to wake him up as the television announces the new year—it would seem pretty pointless. Cas was being a sport about it, though, and even wore the cheap party hat that Dean had bought from a dollar store he found when they drove into town.

"Let's start the countdown!" The plastic-looking woman on the TV says.

"Oh, this is the good part." Dean informs Cas and walks to sit in front of the screen just as the crowd in Times Square yells, "Ten! Nine!"

"Eight! Seven!" They continue and Cas takes a seat next to Dean.

"Six! Five! Four!" Dean doesn't remember it feeling this hokey when he watched it with Sam.

"Three! Two!" He moves to finish his drink, but is disappointed to find that his bottle is empty.

"One!" There's cheering, but the noise makes Dean's gut twist uncomfortably so he picks up the remote next to him and shuts off the television. They sit in silence for a while.

"Is that… it?" Cas asks cautiously, as if afraid to offend.

"Yeah," Dean answers, "I guess it is. Happy 2010." Normally, he'd stay up for hours more, but he can't get rid of the overwhelming nausea that had just surfaced, so he stands and says, "I'm going to bed."

It's only been two months.

2010

Cas isn't around much.

Dean tells Cas and Bobby that he's not lonely, but that's a little bit of a lie. Obviously, Bobby can't exactly travel with him and what Cas is doing is just as important as looking for the Colt, so he clearly can't tell them the truth. Otherwise, Bobby would insist on finding another hunter for him to work with (Bobby's already not thrilled at the idea of Dean working alone) and Dean's not ready for that.

Not yet.

Sam calls every once in a while.

At first it's once a week and then once every other week before it finally settles into once a month. Dean has grown into the habit of studiously ignoring them and even Castiel has learned to disregard the ringing of the phone despite how wrong it feels at first.

There's no call in March.

Usually Sam calls somewhere within the first week of the month, but he's been later before so Dean doesn't notice at first. However, as the month progresses, something itches suspiciously like concern. But he's not concerned, of course. At least, that's what he tells himself as it slips into April.

At first, he figures this is just the continuation of the pattern—every other month now—but there is no call in April. Dean feels a deep irrational and inexplicable fear at Sam's lack of calls, but even he doesn't need a significant look from Cas to know that he's worried about his brother.

He pushes it down and moves on. That's all that's left to do.

Ten months and a handful of days after Sam and Dean separated, Dean is woken up in the middle of the night by Castiel's voice.

"Dean."

Dean groans quietly and flips so his back is facing Cas. He's not sure what time it is, but it sure as hell is too damn early for this

"Four hours," he grumbles, "I don't ask for much."

"But your phone is ringing," Cas explains. The mattress shifts, indicating that Cas sat down.

"Who is it?" Dean asks.

"Chuck."

"Then he can wait until the morning," Dean snaps back and pulls his pillow over his head. "Now let me go back to bed." There's a long pause, and for one glorious moment, Dean thinks that Cas is actually listening to him.

"Hello?" Cas says. Dean sighs heavily in resignation and sits up. He watches as Cas listens to Chuck, his face growing graver and graver. Finally, he says, "I will give the phone to Dean." Wordlessly, he extends his arm towards Dean, and with a sigh, Dean takes it.

"What is it that couldn't _possibly_ wait until morning?" Dean demands.

"It's Sam," Chuck says in a rush and Dean's blood runs cold.

"What about hi—"

"He's going to say yes," Chuck cuts him off, "Soon. You need to get to Detroit _now_." For a beat, neither of them says anything. Dean can feel Cas staring intently at him and knows Chuck is waiting for the irate and irrational freak out. Instead, Dean takes a deep breath and calms himself.

"What _exactly_ did you see Sam doing?" He asks. Chuck seems startled by this question and flounders for a minute.

"He—Sam was in his room," he explains, "And Lucifer was there. Well, Lucifer was in Sam's head so he was sort of there but… never mind. That's not important. But Sam kept on saying that he was done fighting everything and I don't know about you, but to me, that sounds like he's about to say yes!"

"And you just had this vision." Dean concentrates on keeping his voice level.

"I—yeah!" Chuck sputters, "I called you as soon as I woke up."

"So it hasn't happened yet," Dean confirms.

"Well, no…" Chuck says slowly, "But—"

"And did you hear his phone ring?" Dean interrupts.

"No." Chuck sounds bewildered. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Because you've been wrong before," Dean tells him, "And I'm calling Sam. Call me if anything changes." Dean can hear Chuck beginning to sputter, but he snaps his phone shut before Chuck can make any half-formed arguments.

Sam is still his first speed dial, but it takes Dean almost a full minute before he can actually start to call him. Cas sits there patiently, not questioning, just waiting for Dean to make his move. Dean finally gets the balls to put the phone up to his ear and listens to the ringing with his heart in his throat.

"Hey it's Sam," a prerecorded voice says, "Leave a message." There's a harsh beep in Dean's ear.

"Don't say yes." Dean's voice sounds unforgiving and strange to his ear. "Don't be that weak." He pulls the phone away from his ear, hangs up, and sets it next to him on the bed.

That wasn't what he wanted to say.

He wanted to tell Sam that he _knew_ that he was stronger than this. He wanted to tell Sam that he hadn't really forgiven him yet, but he was his brother. He wanted to tell Sam to call him back, that he just wanted to hear the sound of his voice. He wanted to tell Sam that he missed him.

He stands up abruptly and can still feel Cas watching him.

"Let's go," Dean says and this finally gets a reaction out of Cas.

"Where?" He asks. "I thought you wanted to sleep."

"Yeah, well. Change of plans," Dean informs him. "We're heading to Detroit."

Cas doesn't argue.

Cas is lining the window of a motel room a few miles out of Detroit when he doubles over and lets out a pained yelp. The bag of salt he was holding hits the ground with a resounding thud.

"Cas?" Dean sets down the pistol he was cleaning and runs to his side. "Cas what happened?" Cas leans heavily against the wall and moans something that sounds like "no". Dean pulls Cas' arm over his back.

"C'mon," he says, "C'mon man, you're okay. You're fine." Cas just groans. Dean leads him to the bed closest to the window and lowers him onto it. Cas curls up into a ball on his side and won't look at Dean.

"I don't want—" Castiel cuts himself, but the plaintive twinge in his voice is clear.

"Cas, dude, you're freaking me out. Just tell me what's going on." There is no response so he repeats, "_Cas_." His heart is thudding so he can hear his pulse in his ears and he's trying to get this situation under his control, but that's not exactly possible when Cas will barely talk to him. He desperately hopes that Cas isn't hurt, because he doesn't know the first thing about angelic first aid.

Slowly, Cas uncurls himself and begins to push himself into a sitting position. Dean jerks forward and grabs his arms to help pull him up. Finally, Cas meets his gaze and Dean almost wishes he hadn't. His eyes are haunted, horrified by something that Dean is no longer sure that he wants to know about.

"Since we talked to Chuck, I've been monitoring the angel radio. Not very closely, but enough that I can hear their general intentions." He winces. "Just now, there was a surge of sorts."

"A surge?" Dean frowns. There's an alarm clanging in the back of his mind, but he chooses to ignore it. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't have a better way to explain it," he says quietly, "It doesn't happen often. The last time it occurred was when Anna fell. It functions as a way to alert all the angels. An admittedly painful way to unify us."

"You okay?" He asks.

"What? Oh." Cas waves his hand weakly at the look on Dean's face. "It's not unbearable." Dean waits for him to expand on what happened, but Cas just sits in silence, staring at his hands.

"Well?" Dean asks, unable to eliminate the annoyance in his voice. At least it covered up the fear. "Did another angel fall or something?"

"No," Cas says.

"So what the hell happened?" Dean demands. "I'm not going to beg for you to tell me, Cas." Castiel's face twists with apprehension and a wave of dread surges so strongly in Dean that he finds it hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry," Cas tells him, "I am so, so sorry."

"Cas," Dean barks out, a low warning. Every second Cas draws it out, Dean is overwhelmed by the urge to shake him to just _tell him what was happening._

"Chuck was right," Cas blurts out. "Sam said yes."

He continues talking, apologizing some more for putting it so bluntly, but Dean can't hear it over the fire roaring in his ears.

"Excuse me?" He says. Dean can feel his hands trembling because this can't be happening. After all the betrayals, Sam wouldn't do this to him. Sam was stronger than this.

"I don't know exactly what happened, but apparently Lucifer has taken on his true vessel." Cas looks pale and shattered, but Dean can't find it in him to worry about the angel right now.

"Sam couldn't…" Dean shakes his head. "Chuck said we had more time, Cas. You know that." Castiel just shakes his head and apologizes again.

Dean had thought he would be able to _tell_ if something went wrong—an inherent sense that helped him protect his brother for years. But here Cas is, telling him everything is broken—and the anguish in his eyes is too true to be faked—but Dean can't feel anything.

Abruptly, Dean turns on his heel and storms out of the motel, shutting the door firmly behind him. He can't look at Cas, can't listen to him talk over the buzzing like angry bees in his mind. The parking lot outside is empty and dark, save for the flickering of a streetlight by the road.

"God _damn_ it," he yells. He had trusted Sam to care more about the world, to care more about himself. _Fuck_, he had trusted Sam to care more about _Dean_. Because if this was true, (and Dean knows more than anything that it's true) Sam is not who he thought he was. Sam is a bastard and Sam is selfish and—

Dean's breath catches in his throat and he tells himself that he _will not, cannot cry_.

"Fuck," he says because he can't think of anything else. He slumps boneless onto the curb.

This isn't how it was supposed to happen. Dean was going to find the Colt or Cas was going to find God, and they'd kill the devil. The Apocalypse would be averted and everything would be just fucking fine and dandy. And then Dean was going to go to Sam, they'd hug, and Dean would tell him that he forgave him because by that point the fury at his brother would be gone. Things were supposed to go back to normal eventually.

Not even in Dean's most unimaginable nightmares would he have to live in a world where he'd never hear Sam's laugh or never be able to see Sam sleeping in the passenger seat again.

"Fuck," he repeats, because really, what else is there to say at this point?

One day, Castiel wakes up in an unfamiliar hospital.

The "hospital" part is not as frightening as the "wakes up".

Castiel had been cut off from heaven long ago, and was growing more and more human each day, so the sudden absence of anything angelic within him was unmistakable. Even without trying, he knew he couldn't fly anymore, couldn't heel. He is unmistakably mortal.

Faced with panic and a kindly nurse who wants to know if he has any family he could get in contact with, Castiel does the only thing that he can do at such a time: He calls Dean Winchester.

Dean does exactly Castiel expects him to, which is to say he swears and yells and demands to know where Cas is. When Cas responds calmly that he's not quite sure, Dean insists on talking to a nurse or a doctor or anyone who would know. Cas hands the phone over to the unsuspecting nurse and Dean must be particularly worried and therefore aggressive, if the nurses sour expression is anything to go by. Eventually, Cas' location is communicated and Dean promises he'll be there as soon as possible.

Castiel tries to remain awake while he's waiting, but he's not accustomed to dealing with exhaustion, so he slips into sleep almost immediately. When he wakes up, Dean's in the chair in the corner of the room, his legs propped up on the bed and chin tucked into his chest while he snores serenely. The sight of Dean there fills him with inexplicable warmth, so Cas turns on his side and tries to fall back asleep. They can worry in the morning.

Cas has to learn how to fight as a human now. He's overwhelmed with resentment and bitterness at first because he is _Castiel_, one of Gods greatest warriors, and he should not feel weak and incompetent. Though he understands the mechanisms of fighting and shooting a gun, he still has relied too much on his grace in the past and grossly underestimates the kick of a shotgun.

"It's okay, man," Dean tells Cas as they get ice from the machine in the hall, "First time I shot one, I fell flat on my back."

"You were a child then." Cas puts the ice on his shoulder and grimaces at the pain. "This is just shameful."

"No, it's not," Dean argues as the walk back to their room. "You're getting used to everything. All things considered, you're doing great." Cas doesn't think they're talking about the gun anymore.

"I don't feel great," he grumbles. Dean sighs and pushes open their room door.

"Yeah, well," he tells Cas, "Welcome to being human."

There are bad nights. This is not to say there are particularly good ones, but some are infinitely worse. August fourth is one of those horrendous nights.

Cas is just returning from walking to the nearest convenience store to pick up some supplies they were low on. Dean had insisted that he go, but, of course, Cas was not allowed to take the car. He doesn't have a good grasp on distances yet, so the trip there and back takes much longer than he thought he would. He's annoyed and exhausted when he gets back, and is completely ready to bitch at Dean for forcing him to take that walk.

"I'm back," Cas calls as he fumbles to pull his key out of the lock. He shuts the door firmly behind him and the stench of alcohol assaults his senses. "Dean?"

Dean is lying on the bed closest to the door, an arm slung over his face. There's a couple empty beer bottles, which Cas didn't even know they had, lying on the floor near him. Cas gingerly makes his way over to Dean, trying to make as little noise as possible because he can't tell if Dean is asleep or not.

"I tried, Cas," Dean says abruptly and Cas jolts in surprise. Before he can say anything, Dean mumbles, "It didn't work."

"What are you talking about?" He asks quietly, but there's no response. Cas waits patiently for almost five minutes until a quiet snore sounds from Dean.

With a long-suffering sigh, Cas rises and starts to pick up the bottles around Dean's bed. Once he's gathered them up, he walks to set them on the bedside table. With a start, he notices there's a note there with his name written in Dean's drunken scrawl. He sets the bottles down on his bed, picks up the note, and sits down next to them.

_Cas_, the letter reads.

_If you're reading this, I'm probably long gone._ Cas' head snaps up to inspect the hunter lying across from him. When he doesn't magically disappear, Cas returns to reading.

_…long gone. I'm going to say yes to Michael._Cas flinches violently. Surely he would have noticed if his brother was inhabiting Dean. He reminds himself that, yes, of course he would and forces himself to take a deep breath and continue reading the note no matter how much he wanted to shake Dean awake and demand an explanation. He rereads the last line.

_I'm going to say yes to Michael. I'm sorry to do this to you, but I knew if you were here, you'd try and stop me. And that's the thing, Cas. I don't want you to stop me. This is my mess, mine and Sam's, and I've got to fix it the only way I know how. I know that this is gonna disappoint you and you might even hate me for it, but it's the only option we have left. Finding the Colt was like finding a needle in a fucking hay factory and finding God was even more of a long shot. I think you know that too. So as much as it kills me to say it, the angels were right. I'm going to pray to Michael and I'm going to tell him yes, so that's why I'm gone. Do me a favor, Cas, and find a hole to hide in somewhere when the boss battle goes down. Humanity's gonna need some help once it's all through._

_Thanks for everything._

_Dean_

Cas can't understand why the words are fuzzy and hard to read until he looks at his hands and realizes they are trembling uncontrollably. He refolds the note, taking care not to rip the edges and stares hard at Dean.

(_I tried, Cas.)_

He tries very hard not to think about what this letter means.

_(It didn't work.)_

He does not succeed.

He wants to be furious. And he _is_ furious. Dean has no right to send him out on a bullshit errand just to make a decision that clearly needed to be discussed with the two of them. But more overwhelming than the anger is the helpless sorrow. This just confirms Castiel's worst suspicions.

If Michael—if _any_ of his brothers and sisters are still here—Dean would have been snatched away in an instant.

Castiel is truly and totally alone.

Dean moans quietly in his sleep, and Castiel's attention is jerked back to him. He looks softer like this, younger and paradoxically at the same time, older. Cas can see every wrinkle, every new line carved into his face through stress and grief. But the ever-present anger is gone and that takes decades off of his appearance. With a pang, Castiel realizes that Dean only looks like the man that Cas would sacrifice everything for when he's asleep.

He's grateful that Dean is not gone, of course. Cas is positive that Dean is the only chance that this world has at being saved. But the loss of his entire family is sobering to say the least. For a moment, he is overwhelmed with such a dizzying emptiness, with a pure feeling of loss, that his head spins and he can't see straight. It was easier to think himself hated and cut off than to be left behind. There's an unfamiliar prickling in Castiel's eyes, so he holds his head and tries not to cry.

In the morning, Cas adds Dean's letter to the growing list of things that they don't talk about.

They're about to move to another motel—always moving, just like the Colt—so Cas is packing up his belongings in his duffle bag when he comes upon something he forgot he had shoved underneath his clothing. He scoops it up into his hand and walks over to where Dean is nursing another beer.

"You can have this back." Cas extends his closed fist. "I don't need it anymore." Dean automatically reaches out and holds his hand flat. Cas drops the amulet into his open palm. Dean tries to cover his surprise, but he doesn't hide it as well as he thinks he does. Maybe Cas is just getting better at reading him.

"What about God?" Dean asks and Cas shrugs.

"I think we both know God left the building with my brothers and sisters—assuming he was ever here at all." There's a bitter note in his voice that he chooses to ignore. "Besides, I can't really look for Him anymore, can I?" Dean's staring at the amulet now, and Cas doesn't really understand the thinly-veiled disgust in his gaze.

"What do you want me to do with it?" Dean demands and Cas is momentarily startled.

"You were reluctant to give it up. I had assumed you would want it back."

"Yeah well," Dean downright _snarls_, "You assumed wrong." He throws his own duffle over his shoulder and marches over to the motels door. He swings the door open and hovers in the doorway before dropping the amulet in the wastebasket next to the door. The thunk that the amulet makes in the garbage resounds in Cas in a peculiar way. He can't explain what about it that gives him chills, but that doesn't stop the shiver that runs down his spine.

"You coming?" Dean asks.

"Yeah," Cas replies and goes to grab his own bag. "Start the car. I'll be out in a minute." Dean acknowledges him with a grunt and leaves. Cas crosses the room to his duffle and zips it up. He starts to leave, but hesitates. It's incomprehensible, but leaving the amulet there just feels _wrong_. On impulse, he stoops over and picks up the amulet to shove it in his pocket.

_Worst case_, he figures, _I can always just throw it away again._He jogs out to meet Dean at the Impala. He's already in the driver's seat blaring some music that Cas _still_ hasn't become practiced enough to identify, so Cas takes his seat, feeling weighed down by the amulet.

Neither of them mentions it again.

2011

Cas loses his virginity in the young part of 2011 to a laughing blonde he meets in a bar next to the place he and Dean are staying. Dean sees them flirting and recognizes the look in the girls eyes that Cas does not. He pulls Cas aside, hands him their room key, and winks. Cas recognizes this for the permission that it is,sidles over to the girl and asks her if she wants to change venues, smooth as can be.

It's fumbling and awkward, and Cas is mortified by the whole experience.

"Was I your first?" The blonde asks after a long while.

"Yes," Castiel admits. "I am so—"

"If you say sorry, I am walking out right now," she interrupts casually, "Do you have a lighter?" Cas is momentarily taken aback that she isn't planning on leaving immediately before he remembers to nod. He reaches across the bed to grab Dean's lighter off the bedside table. When he turns back around, he's shocked to see a joint in her hand, but says nothing. She takes the lighter and cups her hand to light her joint and Cas realizes distantly that Dean will be pissed when he finds out that Cas let someone smoke in their room. He hates the smell.

Cas shakes off his thoughts of Dean and watches the blonde stand by the window as she follows the traffic that rolls by with her eyes. He's fascinated by the curve of her back and the complete ease she has with her body. She looks up suddenly and catches him watching. She smiles kindly.

"Everyone has a first time," she tells him, "You have nothing to be ashamed of." Cas digs his fingers a little deeper in the sheets.

"I know," he says, but she apparently can hear the lie in his voice. She takes another drag before walking over to sit by Cas.

"You need to relax," she tells him and extends the joint towards Cas. There's a tense moment where he's not sure what to do, but he impulsively grabs it and imitates how she smoked it.

He nearly coughs a lung out and the blonde takes the joint back, laughing.

"First time for that too?" She asks.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Honestly?" She tells him, "Yes. But don't worry about it." They spend a long time in silence, her smoking and occasionally offering Cas a drag which he finds himself unable to turn down.

"Seriously," she says finally, "Not to sound like a bitch, but don't be so uptight about everything. It's _sex_. It's supposed to be fun. If you're getting your panties in such a twist about sleeping with someone, I'd hate to see you what you're like about everything else." She reaches forward and brushes his hair back.

"I feel… inadequate," he admits. The blonde laughs and leans to press a kiss to his forehead.

"You were great," she promises, "But that's not really the point. I don't mean to pry, but you look like you've seen some shit. Let yourself have something good in your life, okay? Just be happy for a little while."

She pulls him down with her again, and Castiel surprises himself by not objecting.

When Dean comes back to the hotel, he finds Cas is asleep and the entire room _reeks_ of pot. He's about to shake Cas awake and demand an explanation when he discovers that Cas is smiling in his sleep.

Dean doesn't think he's ever seen him do that.

He decides to sleep in the Impala and confront Cas in the morning.

Cas gets better at being human. He finds that it's something that requires practice, but he's finding that being human is a lot simpler and less subtle than being an angel. You eat, you drink. You search for a goal—regardless of whether it be a mythical gun or something more mundane—and despair when you inescapably cannot reach it. You drown your sorrows in alcohol and discover that human tolerance is pitiful to angelic. You cherish women or you do not, but either way they are plentiful and they are sweet.

You listen to your best friend (and acknowledge how woefully inadequate that word is to describe your relationship) cry at night and you do not mention it in the morning.

You ignore everything that plagues you, because if you looked it in the eye, you would not be able to stand.

Yes, Castiel muses, being human is simple, but simple does not mean easy.

Dean has picked up a terrible habit of not knocking on the door before he enters a room. Cas doesn't mind it most of the time, but right now –when some blonde (Jean? Jane? He knows she told him her name at one point.) is pulling him on top of her—he feels a twinge of annoyance when the door swings open to reveal Dean with a slightly bewildered look on his face. For a moment, something like embarrassment or unease creeps in, but he shoves it down.

"Who the hell is that?" The woman asks before either of them can say anything.

"This is Dean," he says as he pushes himself into a standing position, already missing the heat of the body beneath his.

"What's he doing here?" She demands. She sits up and adjusts her shirt so she's decent.

"Well," Cas says thoughtfully, "This is his hotel room."

"_Excuse_ me?" She screeches, and Cas winces at the shrillness, "You brought me to your _friends_ hotel room to—" Horror streaks across her face as she studies Dean's stony anger and she points a shaking finger between the two of them. "—This is _not_ what I agreed to. You said you were single!" Castiel can barely contain his laughter. A glance at Dean proves that he's not nearly as amused as Cas.

"I am," he chuckles, and pulls her to her feet. She rips her arm away. _Joan_, he realizes suddenly, _her name is Joan_.

"Whatever," she says, "I'm leaving."

He ushers Joan out with a smile and wink. He jokingly says, "Call me?" but all he gets in return is an indignant sniff. It's alright. He has something more worrisome to deal with. Cas takes a deep breath and exhales noisily before turning to the fuming hunter in the corner. He had been hoping to avoid a confrontation, but judging by Dean's crossed arms and set jaw, that would be impossible.

"Dean—" He starts softly, but he's cut off.

"What the hell was that, Cas?" Dean rages, "You said you were doing research on how to gank the devil, not fucking some… some _civilian_." He spits it out like a dirty word.

"I'm coping," Castiel says simply as he stretches his back with his arms above his head. Dean's look of startled incredulity was priceless. Cas ruefully wishes he had some way to document that expression.

"You're 'coping'?" He demands. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Coping." Cas repeats as he sits comfortably on the bed. "Managing. Enduring." Dean looks at him expectantly, waiting for a further explanation, but Cas doesn't offer one. He instead inspects the dirt under his fingernails.

"What exactly are you 'coping' with?" Dean demands after the pause, and Cas can hear the quotation marks in his voice.

Cas startles them both with a raucous laugh.

"What _aren't_ I coping with?" Cas asks cheerfully, "You are not the only one who's lost family, Dean." Dean stiffens and Cas realizes he's probably crossed the line now. To the casual observer, it may seem like Sam never even crosses Dean's mind. Cas knows better, however.

"I didn't give you shit about the sex," Dean says, completely disregarding Cas' last comment, "I didn't give you shit about the booze. Hell, I didn't even give you shit about the weed I found in the glove box—which, really? That's the place you decide you're going to hide drugs? But now it's getting in the way of the job, and that is where I draw the line."

Cas tries really hard not to roll his eyes, but he doesn't exactly succeed judging by the indignant noise Dean makes.

"Do you think I'm joking?" He demands, "Finding the Colt is our whole _lives_, man!"

"No, Dean." Cas aims a level stare at Dean that makes him falter. "Finding the Colt is _your_ whole life. And I am happy to help you because it is the right thing to do and I do not enjoy the end of the world any more than you do. But do not make the mistake that this is my quest as it is yours."

There is a heavy silence. Cas would normally interrupt it, but he allows it to stagnate. Dean needs reminding that he is not there just an accessory to this revenge game he insists on playing.

"So," Cas cheerfully says once he feels his point has been sufficiently made, "Would you like to hear about the research I did?"

"I—yeah," Dean says. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Do you ever worry we won't find the Colt?" Cas asks over "When the Levee Breaks" as they drive through some dull Midwestern state.

"No," Dean responds, no hesitation. "Of course we're gonna find it. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Cas says and turns the music up as he pushes his growing fears down.

Bobby calls Dean and tells him about the plans he's made with some other hunters. Dean tries to pay attention, but Cas chooses that moment to return with Chinese food.

"Hunters are gettin' jittery," Bobby says while Dean opens one of the take-out boxes. "So we're trying to put together a base of operations. Kind of a fortified safe zone where we can get together if we need to."

"Sounds like a good plan," Dean says distractedly.

"We're calling it Camp Chitaqua. Chuck's here. I'm trying to get Jo and Ellen to come, but they say they'd feel better at the Roadhouse. And," Bobby continues in lower undertones, "We're stocking up. Preparing in case things get worse."

"Winter is coming and all that." Dean takes a chopstick from Cas. "Good idea." He ignores the confused look from Cas. Dean really needs to introduce him to quality television.

"Dean, are you even listening to me?" Bobby snaps. Dean reigns in a sigh and sets down his meal.

"Yeah, I am. It's an awesome idea and all that, Bobby, but I don't get what it has to do with me." Out of the corner his eye, he sees Cas take one of Dean's egg rolls and shoots him a look that promises retribution.

"I want you to come here, idjit!" Bobby says. "It's too dangerous to be hunting solo right now."

"But I'm not hunting solo." Dean takes a big bite of rice. "I got Cas." Bobby lets out a bark of laughter.

"I've seen Cas' target shooting," he tells Dean scathingly, "And let me tell you, you're better off hunting solo. There's no way you're not spending half of your energy just trying to protect him."

"Hey, okay. That's not fair. Cas can take care of himself." At the mention of his name, Cas looks up and cocks an eyebrow.

"I know, I know," Bobby concedes, but it doesn't sound sincere. "I'm worried about you, that's all. You haven't been okay since you've started up this whole revenge thing." Dean stiffens.

"It's not revenge," he says, his voice hard. "And I appreciate the concern, I really do, but I'm _fine_ Bobby. Call me if you need anything else." And he hangs up. Cas gives him a look that is half-worried, but by this point he knows to let things lie. They eat their Chinese in peace, and after Dean explains Camp Chitaqua, they don't mention it again.

At least, not for a few more months.

"I want you to drive me to the bus station." Dean jolts at the sound of Cas' voice and it takes him a moment for what he said to register. He turns to see Cas with a backpack slung over his shoulder and his old ratty trench coat on for the first time in what seems like an eternity. He blinks once, trying to come to terms with this surreal image.

"What?" He asks intelligently.

"Bus station." Cas' lips quirk into an almost-smile. "I would like you to drive me to one."

"Yeah, I got that," Dean grumbles, "Why the hell do you need to go to a bus station?" Cas rolls his eyes and sets down his backpack so he can sit down in the motel chair.

"Because I want to go to Camp Chitaqua and I didn't think you would take kindly to me asking you to take a break from your ever-engrossing search to drive me halfway across the country." Dean ignores the slam—Cas has been increasingly grumpy about looking for the Colt—and focuses on the important part of that sentence.

"Camp Chitaqua? Why the hell would you want to go there?" Dean demands. Cas sighs heavily and does this whole patronizing rubbing-the-side-of-his-face thing that would normally have Dean seeing red, but he's just too bewildered to be upset.

"Because, Dean—" And even his goddamn tone is condescending. Where is this coming from? "—It's for the best."

"For the best?" Dean repeats. "Cas, you're high or something. What are you even talking about?" Cas' eyes flash with something that could be anger, but it's gone in a moment and there's just sadness there.

"I don't like hunting." The words are like a dam and suddenly everything is bursting out and Dean just wants Cas to stop talking, but he doesn't. "It's stressful and it's messy. I'm not good at it and I'm miserable and, as much as it may pain you to hear this, I will be better suited to helping people on the sidelines with Bobby."

Dean doesn't know what to say, so he settles for, "Okay." Cas looks at him, a mix of skepticism and surprise coloring his expression.

"Okay?"

"I'm not going to argue with you." Dean hopes the inexplicable sick feeling in his gut isn't showing on his face. "If that's what you want, sure."

"Oh," Cas says, but he doesn't look pleased. "Good."

Dean picks up his car keys to drive Cas away and reminds himself that what he is feeling is not agony.

2012

Cas loves Camp Chitaqua.

He discovers that it is a perfect blend of everything that he loves about being human. He gets to hunt (and discovers that, with practice, he's _good_ at it), but he still has a bed and a home to come to every night. No one besides Bobby knows that he was an angel, but they are kind to him nevertheless.

There is still an insistent ache in the corner of his heart when he thinks of Dean, but he learns to push that away. After all, isn't that what Dean taught him?

Croatoan hits the world on Friday, February 3rd.

It is first reported on a Wednesday three weeks later.

Dean Winchester sees one such report on February 27th.

It is not until Thursday, March 15th that Dean Winchester watches a fellow hunter be mauled and transformed by Croatoans and finally believes that his nightmare is coming true.

Dean picks up on the second ring. Cas nearly swears out loud, but restrains himself. He was hoping to prolong the inevitable, but it would appear that fate had different ideas.

"Cas," Dean says, "Hey." He doesn't sound cheerful, per se, but upbeat.

Cas' heart sinks a little lower.

"Dean," he rasps. There's a long pause where Dean is clearly waiting for him speak but Cas is too much of a coward to say anything. Finally, he asks, "Are you sitting down?" which is approximately the worst thing he can think to say.

"What the hell man?" Dean asks. "I mean, yeah, I'm in the Impala, but what the hell?"

_("Cas, I need you to take me to get some supplies out of my house.")_

Cas can't help but to despair over the situation. Why does he always have to be the one to hurt Dean? He's already torn away a precious family member away from Dean and it seems needlessly cruel to force Cas to do it again. He wonders what he did to make fate or God or whatever's out there hate him so much. What sin did Cas commit that was so grievous that he had to be punished like that?

"Cas?" Dean interrupts Cas' wave of self-pity, and Cas can hear the anger creeping in. Once upon a time, Cas might have taken that anger at face value, but now he recognizes it for the fear it actually is.

He nearly blurts it out like he did last time. How hard would it be to just say "_Bobby's gone"_ and leave it at that?

(_Cas was just grabbing a couple of guns from the basement. He hadn't left Bobby alone for more than five minutes. That shouldn't have been enough time for a Croat to sneak in._

_And yet.)_

"Dean." Cas chokes back the apology that forms in his throat. "It might be best if this conversation took place in person. Where are you? We could meet halfway."

_(Cas didn't hear the yelling at first. But then there was a thump and the sounds of a struggle and Cas was flying up the stairs, gun in hand._

_There's a Croat standing over Bobby's overturned wheelchair and Cas fired before he even really made the decision to aim and pull the trigger._

_"Bobby!" He said desperately, "Bobby, are you okay?"_

_He realized that he was praying out of sheer force of habit.)_

"Cas, don't pull this bullshit," Dean practically growls and Cas flashes back to telling Dean about Sam. Everything goes back to Sam, he realizes forlornly.

"Bobby wanted one of his old guns from his house," Cas begins.

_(Bobby's eyes darted open._

_"Goddamnit," he swore and that was verdict enough for Castiel.)_

It takes fifteen minutes to recount the entire story, and Dean is silent throughout. Cas leaves out as much as he can. Dean doesn't need to know about Bobby clutching Cas' hand after being helped back into the wheelchair and quietly informing Cas that they both knew what needed to be done. Cas doesn't think he can bear to tell the details of what happened next.

The three gun shots are still echoing in his mind and he can still feel the recoil of his pistol.

"Is he," Dean chokes out when Cas finishes speaking, "Did you bury his…" He trails off.

"He had a hunters funeral," Cas says simply. It is standard procedure now, especially for anyone bit by a Croat. There's no room to take any chances anymore.

"Jesus," Dean breathes.

"We need you to come to Camp Chitaqua," Cas says gently and he can picture the confusion creeping over Dean's face perfectly.

"What?" He asks, "Why?"

"Bobby was in charge," Cas tells Dean, "He took care of gathering supplies and unifying us and making sure everyone was working. Chuck's trying, but he's not suited for this kind of leadership."

"What about you?" Dean says. Castiel falters and tries to come up with a logical answer, some sort of reasoning that Dean will understand.

"I can't," is all he chokes out instead, sounding broken. "Dean, I can't."

"Fuck," Dean says. Feeling numb, Castiel hears something smash in the background. "I'll be there. Just… just give me a couple days."

"Okay," Cas responds shakily. "I'll see you soon then."

"Yeah." There's something raw in Dean's voice that grates against Cas, making it painful to listen to. "I'll see you soon."

Dean arrives in six days, and Camp Chitaqua is in pieces. It becomes evident that Bobby was beloved by all, and nobody is taking the news well.

Chuck looks fairly neurotic when he greets Dean at the Impala as he drives up. Chuck is clutching a clipboard which is scribbled all over in his chicken-scratch handwriting. Dean doesn't bother trying to figure out what it says, which turns out to be a good decision because the second he is out of the car, Chuck is talking at a mile a minute.

"Everyone's really glad you're here, Dean," he says, "You're a well-known name with hunters. People feel safe with you, especially after Bobby. Y'know." He clears his throat. "Anyways. There's a lot for you to get up to date on and—"

"Where's Cas?" Dean interrupts.

"Uh." Chuck blinks rapidly. "In his cabin."

"Take me to his cabin and then we'll talk about whatever it is you want to talk about." He looks Chuck in the eye. "Deal?"

Chuck looks frustrated but he only sounds mildly disgruntled when he says, "Deal" and leads Dean into the camp. It's more put together than Dean originally had expected. That is to say, the buildings are. The people look worn and just plain tired. Dean recognizes a few of them and they greet each other with terse nods, any previous rivalries forgotten. The end of the world is not the time to be petty.

Cas' cabin is on the outskirts of the camp and has beads instead of a door. Dean shoots Chuck an incredulous look, but he only gets a shrug in response. With trepidation churning in his gut, Dean walks up the stairs and pushes the beads aside to enter.

"Cas?" He calls.

"Dean?" Cas rounds a corner and Dean has to double-take and he still doesn't recognize him.

Gone are the slacks and dress shirt, the backwards tie and the trench coat. Hell, even his stick-up-the-ass ridiculously good posture is gone. Cas _slouches_ up to Dean with this stupid grin on his face, dressed in stupid hippy clothes and opens his arms for a hug. Dean ducks out of the way, but that does not deter Cas' mood.

"You're here!" Cas says triumphantly, "I know you _said_ you were coming, but I wasn't really sure." It's clearly not meant as a jab, but it feels like one to Dean.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Dean doesn't realize he's speaking until the words come out of his mouth. Cas pulls at his shirt and looks at it.

"This?" He looks hurt. "It's comfortable."

"It's _stupid_," Dean corrects and looks around the room. There are candles everywhere and everything looks homegrown and smells faintly of pot. He feels a surge of deep, irrational hate for this place. Dean walks across the room and eases himself down to sit on the bed. He says, "Chuck is outside. He wants to tell me how to do what Bobby did." It's like physical pain saying Bobby's name, but Dean tries to ignore that. Cas nods seriously.

"He'd be best for that." He sits next to Dean. "Chuck was a very capable second-in-command."

Right then, Dean nearly bursts and tells Cas how he doesn't want this, how he's been there not ten minutes and he already feels like he's _suffocating_ underneath this place. He can't have people relying on him and he can't be left in charge of some ragtag band of survivors. He knows that Cas will understand that everyone has their line in the sand, and this is Dean's. But just as he opens his mouth, he looks at Cas.

Cas looks so _goddamn_happy and relieved. Dean has seen Cas when he's faking happiness, and this is not it. With a pang, he remembers how much Bobby meant to Cas and that Cas has spent the past half-year in his constant company. He heard enough of Cas' voice on the phone call to know how devastated he was, but apparently just the sight of Dean was enough to make him feel better.

Now is the time to remind Cas not to put his faith in Dean because nothing good will come of that. He has a responsibility to tell Cas that he will let him down and they will all hurt in the end. He needs to tell him that he's leaving because it's best for the both of them. He opens his mouth.

Dean moves all his worldly possessions out of the Impala and into Bobby's old cabin the next day.

"What the hell is this?" Cas looks up lazily at the sound of Dean's voice. Dean is furiously holding a pill bottle and shaking it, making the tablets inside rattle.

"Adderall," Cas replies casually, "Can you put it back on the shelf where it belongs?"

"I know what it is." Dean's teeth are gritted. Cas lifts an eyebrow.

"Then why are you asking?" He questions.

"Because!" Dean explodes. "Is this what made you take forever when we were hunting for supplies? Risa nearly got bit by a Croat!"

"I told you to leave without me," Cas explains calmly. He doesn't understand why Dean is riling himself up like this.

"Yeah, like that was gonna happen," Dean grumbles, glaring at the container like it betrayed him. Cas closes the book he was reading. It was some paperback B-list novel written for bored housewives that he had snatched during a raid. Cas is finding it surprisingly engrossing.

"I don't understand why you're so upset," Cas says diplomatically, "Besides the fact that I put Risa in danger, which is completely understandable."

"That's not—" Dean cuts himself off with a annoyed noise.

"Then what exactly is bothering you?" Cas asks, irritation creeping into his voice. He tries to be patient with Dean, he really does, but sometimes he's just unreasonable. Cas doesn't think that Dean has ever seen Cas with prescription pills, but it's not like he didn't know that Cas was dabbling in drugs. Cas demands, "Well?" when Dean sullenly avoids his gaze.

"It's nothing," Dean says and starts to pocket the Adderall, but Cas is up and grabbing his wrist in a flash. Dean flinches away, but tries to cover it by attempting to jerk his hand away. Cas may not be an angel anymore, but he is not weak, so he does not yield.

"You never had a problem with my vices before," Castiel hisses, "Why now? Why this?" Dean does not say anything, but some emotion flashes over his face so quickly that Cas nearly misses it. Unfortunately, he does not. Even more unfortunately, he recognizes it. Cas has seen that expression on his own face every time Dean returns to camp boasting of new information extracted by peeling off the fingernails of a demon or by making it swallow salt until it coughed up blood.

Dean is disgusted with him.

Shocked, Cas releases Dean's wrist and stumbles back a few steps. All he wants to do is flee from the room and run until he doesn't remember what Dean's face looks like when it's twisted like that. Within a beat, though, his easy grin is back on his face. He tries not to think about how mangled and fake it probably looks.

"If you wanted it, you could have just asked." Cas' heart is thudding uncontrollably and he feels like he's going to vomit, but his voice is lilting and carefree, so it's okay. "Never let it be said that I'd withhold anything from our fearless leader."

"I don't want it," Dean says gruffly and tosses it at Cas, who catches it expertly. He turns on his heel and exits the room, but not before adding, "Don't let any of your _vices_ get anyone killed." When Dean is out on the porch, Cas can hear him mumble, "Jesus."

Cas flops haphazardly to the floor and inspects the plastic orange container. He turns it over and over in his hands, memorizing every inch of it to avoid thinking about what just happened. He'll just have to hide it better, he decides, because he doesn't think he can bear seeing that look in Dean's eyes ever again.

There are quiet moments sometimes. Between fighting Croats and scavenging to survive, sometimes Dean finds time to escape the haggard looks and the responsibility that chases him. He has a favorite place, near to their camp, but isolated enough that he doesn't have to worry about everyone's problems. It's perfect, quiet and isolated, with the exceptions of the times Cas follows him there—which is every time, really.

"Look at us, Dean," Castiel laughs on one such day, "We defied Heaven and Hell, and look at what we've won. Everything is ours!" When Dean does not ask him to explain like he so clearly wants him to, he continues, "We're the only ones left to claim it."

"You're drunk," says Dean.

"So?" Cas asks. "I'm drunk, you're drunk. Half the world is drunk, if they have any sense."

"I'm not drunk," Dean protests without much vigor. He reaches and pulls the beer bottle out of Cas's hand and takes a long swig. The world looks beautiful here, like it did before. It was untouched by civilization years ago, and would remain that way. The Croats always congregate in places where they can find more prey.

Watching the hills slope gently into each other and the birds dart through the air with the sun beating down warm on his exposed arms, Dean can almost pretend that none of the past two years happened.

Almost, but not quite.

"You're always drunk," Cas says, "Otherwise you wouldn't be able to crawl through this shamble we have the audacity to call a life."

"Shut up, Cas," Dean tells him half-heartedly. He glances over at the ex-angel. Cas is lying casually on his back, propped up by his elbows and grinning at the sky. For whatever reason, he's left his trench coat on in this unbearable heat, but the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He catches Dean's gaze and waggles his eyebrows at him.

"Look at all this, Dean." He jerks his chin to indicate the landscape. "This is all ours."

"Are you still going on about that?" Dean grumbles into the bottle.

"Of course I am!" He leaps to his feet and beams down at the man at his feet. "How could I not be? This could be our kingdom, Dean."

"Our kingdom?" Dean repeats.

"Yes." Cas turns away from Dean, still smiling. "It's not as if my father wants it anymore, so why can't it be ours?

"We were not meek and yet we inherited this great earth." Cas flings his arms wide and his coat does a sad parody of a cape. "And what a prize it is, Dean Winchester! What a prize it is." Dean looks skeptically at the alcohol.

"Is there something in this?" He asks dubiously. Cas laughs, masking his disappointment in the fact that Dean isn't impressed by his observations. He spins around again and sits, facing Dean. Cas scoots towards him until they're perhaps a little too close for comfort.

"Just fermented hops," he says idly. Dean narrows his eyes.

"Are you high again?" He demands, "Because I told you not do that shit around me. I'm not going to try and stop you, cause when's the last time you've ever listened to me? But I'm not going to sit around and listen to you when you're stoned out of your—"

Cas rolls his eyes at Dean's ranting and leans forward to briefly brush his lips against Dean's. It's barely a kiss, but it fulfills its intended purpose. Dean freezes mid-word and stares at Cas with frozen horror in his eyes. Cas in turn smacks his lips together thoughtfully as he pulls away.

"The quiet is heavenly," he explains. "It was such a shame to soil it with your needless anger."

There's something hot burning in Dean's gut. He's not sure if it's rage or desire or _what_, but it has been so long since he felt anything but empty.

Desperate to keep the fire roaring in his stomach, he jerks forward to grab the sides of Cas' face and crushes their lips together. It's an awkward kiss: Dean is all enraged passion and Cas moves his lips slowly with passive acceptance_._Dean pushes towards Cas, nips at his bottom lip, urging him to respond with the same intensity. But when the kiss fails to right itself, Dean pulls away fractionally, his breath coming out in pants. Cas' exhalations are irritatingly even.

Dean ducks his head away from the honesty in Cas' eyes that he's not comfortable addressing at this moment and pulls him into his lap. He busies himself by knotting his fingers in Cas' hair and roughly pulling his head back to expose his neck. Cas doesn't resist, just places his hands on Dean's waist to steady himself. Dean trails his throat with needy, open-mouthed kisses. Cas' hands tighten and dig into Dean's muscles, but otherwise, there is no reaction.

Dean has seen how ferocious Cas can be when he's with a woman, so this quiet compliancy is unnerving. He drags his fingers down Cas' sides and hooks his fingers into the belt loops to pull their hips flush together. Cas lets out something that sounds like a bizarre mix between a gasp and a moan. Dean takes that as encouragement and spreads his hands, a few of his fingers slipping underneath his shirt.

Cas expertly rolls his hips into Dean's and leans forward, finally putting weight on Dean's shoulders. Unfortunately, Dean wasn't ready for his sudden shift in weight and he tips backwards.

"Oof," Dean lets out on impact. Their teeth clack together painfully and before Dean can say anything, Cas is laughing hysterically.

"Hey," Dean protests, "Stop that." But Cas only laughs harder. Dean props himself on his elbows and waits awkwardly for Cas to calm down, and he finally does, wiping tears out of his eyes. When he sees the expression on Dean's face, he sobers up almost immediately. Or he sobers up as much as Cas can nowadays. There's still a smirk playing at the corner of his lips when he speaks.

"I'm sorry," He says, "Did I hurt your feelings?" Dean shoots him the dirtiest look he can manage.

"Fuck off," he snipes back. Cas crawls back over Dean and hovers with his hands on either side of his face.

"I'm sorry," Cas says again and it actually sounds sincere. He leans down so their lips are barely brushing and breathes, "Will you ever be able to forgive me?"

_Since when did Cas become such a fucking tease?_

Dean moves to actually turn this into a real kiss and get the ball rolling towards a more clothesless conclusion, but Cas quickly moves his hands from where they were to Dean's shoulders, restraining him.

"That's a yes or no question," Cas taunts and presses a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. He ghosts his lips down Dean's jaw to his throat and continues, his breath tickling and leaving goose bumps in its wake, "That wasn't nice of me and I'm very, very sorry. So. Do you forgive me?"

"Yes," Dean chokes, "Yea—fuck. Yeah. Sure." Cas grins wolfishly and suddenly Dean's not being held back anymore, because Cas' hands are tangled in his hair and he's being kissed so enthusiastically and thoroughly that he forgets that he was pissed at Cas for teasing him in the first place.

Cas gracefully aligns their bodies and, yeah, Dean is hard and shit, Cas is too; Dean doesn't want to stop himself from grinding against the friction he finds there. Cas hums, sounding smug as he expertly rolls his hips into Dean's.

There's a very small voice in the back of his head demanding to know what the _hell_ is going on, and this is _Cas_ for Christ's sake, but it's very hard to pay attention to that when Cas' hands are slipping lower, tugging at buttons and fabric before settling with a bruising grip around Dean's waist.

Cas' movements come to a sudden halt and Dean looks up, confused. There's an unmistakable question in Cas' eyes, and maybe a little fear too.

_Is this okay?_

Dean nods and surprises himself by brushing his hand over Cas' jawline and everything is movement again.

Dean can't really stop the gasp that escapes when Cas presses his palm against the length of his erection through Dean's pants. Cas hums happily against Dean's lips and pulls away, that shit-eating smirk still present. Dean begins to speak, but Cas flicks open the button on Dean's jeans, and Dean's mouth feels too dry to speak. He wants to say something, anything, but everything is just so dreamlike and surreal that he can't force out even the most pathetic dirty talk.

Cas, however, doesn't seem to mind, if the way he's shoving Dean's pants and boxers down in one fluid motion is anything to go by.

"Cas—" He manages to choke out as he sits up to lean on his elbows.

"Shut up," Cas responds, not without affection. He takes a long moment to massage circles into Dean's hipbones with his thumbs, and Dean can feel the tension in the air crackle like static. He's almost positive he's the only one noticing it, however. Cas is studying Dean with something terrifyingly close to reverence in his eyes, and that makes Dean's skin prickle

With no warning, one of Cas' hands darts over to give Dean's cock an experimental stroke. Dean lets out a strangled noise and Cas smirks up at him.

"Not—ah—not one word." Dean tries to sound intimidating and misses the mark horribly. Cas just smiles wider, and uses his free arm to support himself while he leans over to kiss him while lazily pumping his other hand.

Dean relinquishes any semblance of control to Cas, just laying back with his arms spread; his quiet gasps and moans slip out freely as he no longer cares. Cas shifts above him and brushes his thumb across the tip of Dean's cock, spreading pre-come and making his hand glide more smoothly as he increases his speed.

Dean digs his fingers into dirt as he twitches into Cas' grip. He's embarrassingly close, but he can't find it in himself to be ashamed. Especially not as Cas hisses his name and encouragement into his ear, and hooks his other hand around to firmly squeeze at Dean's ass.

Dean comes with a shout. For a moment, he's worried that his cry sounds a little bit too much like Cas' name, but he shakes that thought away.

Dean makes a point of not looking too closely at what he and Cas has, and now he's gone and ruined years of carefully cultivating a relationship that is as easy as breathing. Because while he'd be lying if he'd say that he has never found himself attracted to Cas, he can't do this.

He can't.

Cas is back, rocking his hips slowly against Dean, and the anxiety is rising with each gentle thrust. It's not long before Cas lets out an unbearable moan and comes, spilling over Dean's stomach.

He drapes himself bonelessly over Dean, wrapping himself around him as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Dean pulls away and darts to his feet.

He can't look at Cas as he redresses himself, because he knows what's going to be there. He knows that Cas is staring at him with the stupidest goddamn puppy eyes that any man has ever seen. He doesn't want to think about the confusion and hurt that's there, because, yeah, Cas does one night stands, but clearly they've always had more than that and in all his time Dean's never seen Cas rejected. There's an unimaginable guilt for just running, but that is overridden by the overwhelming urge to _get out, get out, get out._

He flees as quickly as he can, feeling every bit like the dick he knows he is.

As he returns to camp, Dean assures himself that that was a one-time thing. It was a lapse in judgment, and could only be expected by people under the extreme pressure that Cas and Dean are. By the time he gets back to his cabin, Dean has convinced himself that this is just a bump in the road that they'll be able to avoid and basically never think about. They certainly won't do anything like that ever again.

The burning of passion, _actual_ passion, in his gut for the first time in years says otherwise.

The next day, Dean knows he will have to face Cas at some point. That doesn't mean that he can't avoid it for as long as possible.

Unfortunately, as he walks out of his cabin in the morning, Cas is sitting there on the steps. When he sees Dean, he smiles blindingly.

"Morning," Cas says, "How'd you sleep?"

"I, uh," Dean stutters, fearing that this is some kind of trap, "Fine."

"That's good to hear," Cas continues on, "Chuck wanted me to tell you that we're low on toilet paper again, so you should get some on your next raid."

"That was the plan," Dean says, absently wondering how this could be his life.

"Good," Cas says and stands up. He salutes Dean. "I'll see you later then." Cas ambles off and starts whistling something that Dean swears sounds like "So Happy Together" by the Turtles. He shakes himself. He has bigger problems than whatever the fuck is happening between him and Cas.

Namely, toilet paper.

2013

_Are we exclusive?_

Cas has never thought of himself as being sentimental, but he very nearly asks that question six times as he and Dean sit opposite each other, picking at their respective dinners. Each time, he swallows it with a bite of his sandwich.

"And then Jane found a crate of Ammo," Dean is saying, "Oh man, Cas, you should've been there." Cas nods like he's listening, but in his mind he's pulling Dean towards him and entrapping his lips with his own, kissing him until he pulls away and tells Dean, "You're mine, only mine," and Dean just nods breathlessly.

"I regret that I wasn't in the state to go with you," he says dryly instead.

"Dude, I'm not taking you scavenging when you're on drugs," Dean tells him, "We've talked about this."

"Right, right." Cas nods and says nothing about the countless times he's went along while high and Dean never noticed.

"Anyways, it was pretty successful." Dean takes a bite of his food. "What'd you do while we were gone?"

"Pined away for you."

"Very funny." Dean shot him a look. "What's with you today? You're being a dick."

Cas realized distantly that he was, in fact, being petulant and Dean had done nothing to deserve that. That, of course, does not stop him.

"I don't like the word _dick_," he says idly, "I don't think it really encompasses my personality. I've always found _bastard_ to be a much more artistic term." Dean scowls.

"Okay, seriously man?" He asks, "What the hell is up with you?"

_What the hell is up with_us_? I don't mind the mind-blowing sex, but could I know what it means? If we're playing some sort of game, I just want to be let in on the rules, that's all._

Cas doesn't say any of this. Instead, he puts a finger under Dean's chin and casually leans across to kiss him. He barely makes contact before Dean pushes him away.

"Later," he hisses, "People are gonna see."

_Are we exclusive?_

And there is Castiel's answer.

Sex with Dean is hard and fast and desperate. Dean fucks like he has something to prove and, in all honestly, that's unsettling to Castiel. He doesn't really mind, but he finds the contrast between Dean and his other unhurried lovers amusing. Cas has become accustomed to pillow talk and casual trails of kisses after sex. It's not uncommon for Dean to pull out of Cas and tell him the plans for their next raid in the same breath.

But Cas is okay with that. He likes what they have and doesn't want to wreck it. So he doesn't push for more, doesn't ask for affection, because he knows that's not how it is between him and Dean.

Until, of course, he does.

"Dean," calls out Cas from where he's relaxing on his bed. Dean pauses buttoning up his shirt and stares at Cas. They usually don't talk after they fuck, especially when it's so late at night and Dean needs to head back to his cabin to get some rest.

"Yeah?" Dean asks.

"You could stay here, you know." Castiel yawns. "The sun's going to be up in a few hours and there's room enough for two." He rolls over to one side to accentuate his point. Dean eyes him carefully and Cas steels himself for the inevitable rejection.

"Yeah, okay."

Cas' head snaps up as Dean shrugs off his shirt.

"What?" He says rather stupidly.

"I said okay," Dean repeats with a roll of his eyes. He shucks of his jeans and kneels next to the bed. "You've gotta share the blankets, asshat."

Wordlessly, Cas lifts the sheets and Dean crawls underneath. He flips so his bare back is facing Castiel and grumbles something that sounds like "good night", but Cas could be mistaken.

Cas hadn't expected cuddles (hell, he hadn't expected _anything_) but this seems unnecessarily callous. If he wasn't positive it would drive Dean out of the bed in an instant, he would trace his fingers down the muscles of Dean's back, memorizing every freckle and scar that decorated it. He would sling his arm around Dean's hips and press himself tightly against his back, breathing compliments and adulations into his ear. He would flip Dean over and bury his face into the hollow of Dean's chest, so he could hear every heartbeat and could feel Dean's breath rustling his hair.

Instead, he fists his hands in the sheets to remind himself to keep them to himself. It takes a long time, but eventually Dean's breathing even outs and he emits a snore that he'd deny when he woke up (if Castiel chose to tease him about, which, clearly, he will). Cas rolls over and holds himself up on his elbows so he can look at Dean's face.

Dean used to complain all the time about Cas watching him while he slept. Then, Cas hadn't been watching Dean for any particular reason. The nights were boring, and most of the time Dean was the most interesting thing in the motel room. There was nothing complicated or affectionate about it then.

If Dean woke up right now and saw Cas' eyes fixed on him, Cas _knows_ he would just stand up and leave. And somehow, Cas can't bring him to stop. He realizes that watching the man sleep will not give him any more insight to his character than watching him when he's awake (and that endeavor is still fruitless), but it's having a strangely calming effect on Cas.

So calming, in fact, that it lulls Cas into sleep. When he wakes up, and the other side of his bed is empty and cold, he is disappointed, but not entirely surprised.

"Cas, you check the second story. See if there's useful up there," Dean barks and Cas nods obediently. Normally, Dean would send someone up with him, but they hadn't see Croats in this area for months. It was safe, as far as locations went this day.

He heads up the stairs, pausing to look at family pictures hanging on the wall. Absently, he hopes that they made it somewhere safe, but he knows how unlikely that is. Croatoan spreads unbelievably fast and this area had been hit hard.

He almost wishes he could pray for them, but that isn't really an option anymore.

The first place Cas always checks is the bathroom. Toiletries are usually scarce, and it's a welcome blessing to come home with a half-finished tube of toothpaste. Unfortunately, this house was wiped pretty clean when the family moved on (or some other scavenger beat them to it).

He moves onto the bedrooms then. He knows that Jane was complaining that her boots were worn and Dean was in desperate need of a new coat, though he'd never admit it.

Cas _likes_ scavenging like this. He once told Dean that it was like "extreme shopping". However, it wasn't even the act of finding necessities that were the most enjoyable, but the look in the eyes when you handed someone exactly what they had needed. For a moment, the wear of the years and the weight on their shoulders disappeared. So when he saw one of the closets basically stuffed to the brim with female's shoes, he shucked off his gun, set it on the bed and sat in the closet to start sorting through the piles.

Unfortunately, most of the shoes are highly impractical high heels that nobody in camp would appreciate. There is one pair of boots, but they are "fashion" boots—which is the most ridiculous concept Castiel has ever heard of—and therefore much too thin to be of any use. They're also a full size smaller than the shoes Jane wears, to add insult to injury.

Cas stands, discouraged, to find a Croat standing directly between him and his gun.

His heart is in his throat and his body hums with adrenaline. He knows even if he calls out to the others, there's no way they'll reach him in time. And trying to get to his gun is completely out of the question. That would involve fighting the Croat and in weaponless combat, Castiel would be hopelessly outclassed.

Out of the corner his eye, he sees a large window.

_That's a bad idea_, something that sounds suspiciously like Dean tells him, _don't be a fucking dumbass._

But at that moment, he sees the muscles in the Croats legs twitch and before he can even rationally make a decision, he's tucking his head into his elbow and throwing himself sideways, a half-desperate prayer of _let me live, let me live, let me live_ stuck on repeat in his brain.

The glass shatters and there's nothing beneath Cas' feet.

He doesn't expect falling to feel like flying.

Faintly, he realizes that he needs to right himself so he lands on his feet to reduce a spine injury and his body moves accordingly, but the majority of his brain is wondering at the overwhelming euphoria rushing through him.

Castiel had never been the most adept or agile flier, but he had enjoyed it just as every other angel had. He hadn't allowed himself to think about the loss of flight because then he wouldn't be able to stop, but the pit in his stomach caused by the air rushing past was identical to the one that had been so natural.

His joy is cut short by a thud and a sharp pain in his foot. He breaks his fall with a roll, but it's largely useless because most of his fall was cushioned by the foot screaming beneath him.

"Fuck." He yells with a crack in his voice, "Dean!" He sucks in deep gulps of air and curls himself around the offending appendage and tries very hard not to black out.

"Dean!" He calls out again, and this time there is a sob in his voice. He hears the thundering of boots, and he very much wants to roll over so he can see who's coming, but that is not exactly an option for him at the moment.

"Cas!" And Castiel would recognize the hands grabbing at him anywhere, not to mention the gravelly voice. He's pulled over onto his back and he blinks owlishly up at the most concerned look he has seen on Dean Winchester's face in years.

"Cas, what the fuck happened?" There are fingers digging into his skin, and normally that would hurt, but right now it feels comforting and safe.

"I hurt my foot a lil' bit," he mumbles and closes his his eyelids he can still see the scenery flying by as he performed his mockery of flight.

"Did you see me flying, Dean?" Cas asks, "I flew again." He's suddenly filled with a burst of unprecedented energy, so he reaches up and grabs fistfulls of Dean's shirt.

"What?" Dean says intelligently.

"When I jumped." Cas isn't explaining this the way he wants to. "I flew." Unfortunately, Dean does not catch the important part of what Cas says.

"You _jumped_? What the fuck is wrong with you?" He shakes Cas' shoulders. "Are you trying to kill yourself?" There's a crack in Dean's voice that Cas is almost positive he imagined.

"Croat," Cas says simply and to his surprise, Dean doesn't ask why he didn't shoot it.

"Reggie. John." A couple of the men standing behind him scurry off to do what Castiel could not. But Castiel cannot be distracted by that at the moment, because Dean puts one arm under Cas' knees and the other behind his back to hoist him up. Cas wraps his arms around Dean's neck, too stunned to say a word.

"Let's get your stupid ass back to camp," Dean says gruffly. Cas buries his head in Dean's shoulder and listens to the rapid beating of his heart and for a moment, everything is alright.

"I didn't know the fearless leader made house calls now!" Cas crows triumphantly as Dean pushes aside the beads to enter his cabin. There's something terrifying about his expression, so Cas pats the spot on the bed next to him and continues, "Come on, sit down. You're my first visitor today." Dean's frown doesn't change, but he does sit next to Cas.

"How's the foot?" He asks finally.

"Not too bad." Cas shrugs. "I won't be able to move around much, but it was a clean break. I shouldn't be out for the count for too long."

"That's good to hear." Dean clasps his hands in his lap and looks away. Cas frowns. Dean is _awkward_ sometimes, but not this painfully. He places his hand on Dean's shoulder and starts pulling him in for a kiss.

Dean stands up and jerks away as if burned. Cas realizes that his eyes are wide and hurt, but he makes no effort to change his expression. Dean has never reacted this way, ever.

"...Dean?" He says slowly.

"We can't, Cas," Dean says.

"Feet aren't that important to sex, Dean." Cas starts to smirk. "If you're that worried about it, I'll bottom this time and we can-"

Dean holds up his hand to cut Cas off, and he should look angry or horrified or _something_, but he just looks blank. "I mean we can't anymore. This _thing_ that we've got going on with us, we can't do it anymore."

"Are you breaking up with me?" Cas jokes, trying to cover up how shaken he is because this was the one piece he had of Dean that felt even the tiniest bit sincere and he couldn't lose everything, he couldn't.

"We weren't ever dating, so."

Cas slumps backwards against his headboard. Dean still won't look at him, and his voice is dispassionate. Robotic. Cas wants desperately to wake up, but they sit in silence and the scene remains the same.

"Look at me." This can't be happening. "Just look at me."

Dean does not move.

"Don't do this to me, Dean," Cas says, "We can... we can figure out whatever's wrong, and we can fix it, okay? Just come here and... we can fix it."

Silence.

"There's nothing to fix," Dean says finally, "I'm just done." He doesn't say it, but Cas can hear the double echo of _done with you_.

"You bastard!" Cas blurts, overwhelmed with sudden fury. "You don't get to just get rid of me! I lost everything for you and your goddamn brother!" Dean flinches at the mention of Sam, but Cas is not done.

"I lost my brothers, my sisters, everything, Dean!" He roars, "I'm a _human_ now because of _you_! So you don't get to get rid of me, just like that. Do you hear me? You have _no right_ to do this to me, do you understand? You _owe_ me! I did not give up everything to be _thrown away_, you fucking asshole!"

Dean does not move throughout the abuse, does not lift his eyes from the spot on the floor he has fixated on.

"_Say something!"_ Cas screams.

Dean looks up and chills scurry down Cas' spine when their eyes lock.

Those damnable green eyes that Cas fell in love with (_and he does loves them, no matter how much he denies it_) are blank.

Cas does not see the regret, the guilt, or even the anger he is looking for. His fury deflates and he can feel the tension fall out of his shoulders.

"No," he whispers, "Don't, don't, _don't-"_

Dean turns and leaves the room.

2014

Cas used to want to yell.

Everything was so unfair, and it didn't seem right to just let that go silently. Why did the ones he love have to suffer? Why did _he_have to suffer? He was sick and tired of the guilt settling so easily on Dean Winchester's shoulders, as if it had always belonged there.

Of course, it had been a long time since he felt that way.

Cas does not yell anymore.

He watches instead. He's noticed that Dean still yells. In fact, an argument could be made that Dean yells even more than he used to. But there's something missing. He can't place his finger on it, but when Dean is angry, there's a hollowness in his voice that is unmistakable.

Cas does not mention this to Dean, but that is unsurprising because there is not a lot that Cas mentions to Dean Winchester anymore.

Sometimes, when they've just returned from a raid, and Dean is giving everyone their customary "we didn't die" beers, Cas wonders what happened to them, when Dean stopped looking him in the eye. He almost wishes he could be bitter about it, but if he's being honest with himself, he just isn't.

For the longest time, Cas was furious with Dean for shutting him out. He avoided Dean at every instance he could (which was surprisingly easy, considering Dean was avoiding him as well). But now, he realizes that it's all futile. Adore Dean or despise him, he is all that remains of what Castiel once was.

When Cas starts to open up to Dean again, he does not object, but he does not encourage it either. Somehow, they form a tenuous friendship, a weak shadow of what they once had together before the end of the world.

But it's better than the nothing they were.

"But honestly, Dean won't stop going on about this _stupid_gun," Risa says as she walks past Cas. He jolts to attention. _Dean wouldn't_, he tells himself, but he ambles after Risa and whoever she's talking to anyways.

"What gun?" He asks casually.

"He calls it the Colt." Risa snorts derisively, "He says that he's going to kill the devil with it. But come on. That's impossible, right? ...Cas?" She turns around to look at Cas, a questioning look on her face. Cas hadn't even realized that he'd stopped walking.

"I'll be right back," he says and darts off in the direction of Dean's cabin, his heart pounding in time with his steps. Dean had given up so long ago. Surely Risa was mistaken.

He bursts into Dean's cabin, half out of breath, to find Dean sitting casually cleaning his gun. Dean looks up at the intrusion and lifts his eyebrow.

"Cas?"

"Risa says you're looking for the Colt," Cas blurts out. Dean's eyebrow lowers and he directs his attention away from Cas to the gun in his hands.

"I have been for a while now," he says casually, as if this is no big deal. "I just didn't want to tell people about it until I had some sort of lead." Cas walks towards Dean, trying not to remember that this is the first time they've been alone together in months and months.

"And you've found one now?" He asks. Dean nods, still entirely focused on the gun. Cas takes a seat across the room from Dean.

"You got anything else for me?" Dean asks after a long while.

"You think you'll be able to do it?" Cas wonders aloud, a question that has plagued him for years but has never been able to voice. "Shoot the devil and all that?" Dean finally makes eye contact with Cas, and his eyes are blazing.

"Of course," he says, "He's Satan."

There was a time where Cas would've doubted that statement, but looking at Dean now, he knows that Dean could look into the eyes of the shell of his brother and kill him without hesitation. He stands up.

"I wish you the best of luck with your search," Cas tells him. As he leaves, he thinks he hears Dean thank him, but he doesn't return to investigate.

It's October again.

When Dean wakes up, he sneaks out of Jane's room, jittery with news of the Colt.

Cas wakes up wrapped in two sets of arms. He doesn't really remember whose cabin he's in or how he got there.

Dean doesn't realize it, and neither does Cas, but it's five years to the day since he last spoke to his brother. Five years to the day since the beginning of the end.

After a long day of preparation and nerves, Dean and Cas find themselves alone in Dean's cabin. Dean isn't leaving until the next day, but he and the team want to be completely ready to go by tonight. Cas feels particularly on edge because he promised himself that he would be completely sober in every way for this.

He wishes desperately that he wasn't.

"So, we're leaving pretty early in the morning," Dean says, "It's pretty close, so the mission shouldn't take too long." Neither of the comment on how that sounds like a lie.

Getting to the Colt will be near impossible. Not only is it in a red-zone for Croats, it's being protected by an unknown number of demons. Despite his misgivings, Dean insists that Cas will stay at camp. He's been telling everyone time and time again that he wants a small team of the best fighters they had and Cas just didn't make the cut, but Cas knows that it's more than that.

Cas thinks he understands a little bit.

Cas means to tell Dean, "We'll all miss you," but instead he blurts out, "Be safe." Dean looks a little startled.

"Yeah," he responds, "Of course."

Somewhere in camp, a dog barks. Dean and Cas shift uncomfortably.

"Dean, I-" Cas starts just as Dean says, "I need you to-" They both cut off. Cas gives Dean a small nod to prompt him to go first.

"I need you to not do anything stupid," Dean says, "If we don't make it back, you're the only chance this place has of surviving. You've got to take care of things, okay?" Cas nods slowly. He's wondering if Dean is telling him to "take care of" the devil, too, if things go wrong.

He's not so sure he can do that.

"So what were you going to say?" Dean asks, looking considerably more relaxed. For a moment, Cas can't remember.

There's a lot he wants to say.

"I need you to come back," he tells Dean, but it sounds too serious so he adds, "I don't think I could put up with Chuck without you to temper him." Dean doesn't seem to hear the second part and he just looks pained.

Dean opens his mouth and for one glorious moment, Cas thinks he's going to say something and Cas will have _his_Dean back, the resilient, defiant one he pulled from Hell. His heart thrums with an anticipation he hasn't felt in years.

Dean closes his mouth and claps his hand against Cas' shoulder.

"I'll be back," he promises.

"Right," Cas says weakly.

"Now get out of my cabin." Dean attempts a smile. "I've gotta go get something out of the Impala."

"Okay," responds Cas and stretches his arms about his head as he leaves the cabin.

He has no idea how soon he'll have his Dean back.


End file.
